


of all the bread baskets

by everybreatheverymove



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, One Shot, Prompt Fic, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27787132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreatheverymove/pseuds/everybreatheverymove
Summary: April's never been great at reading social cues—much less romantic ones. But she's not about to divulge that information to a stranger she met five minutes ago because he sat at her dinner table by accident and accidentally hijacked her date. Problem is, he's charming and she's awkward.AU drabble.
Relationships: Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	of all the bread baskets

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been, what, like five years or so since I've written Grey's fanfiction? That's... something. But, you know, quarantine really gave me a good kick up the ol' butt this year and one of the (unfortunate?) consequences of that was me re-discovering this fandom—the Japril side of it, specifically. It's good to be back.
> 
> Oh, and I'm working on several stories right now, but this is just a small AU drabble I wrote out of both boredom and a desperate need to get something written and published. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts (if you're still around after all this time, that is!)
> 
> \- Jo

When she comes back from the bathroom—after standing in a small queue of three for a good six minutes—there's a man sitting at her dinner table. And it's not the one she started the night with. The blond, her date, is nowhere to be found.

"Excuse me…" April says as she rounds the man's seat, voice dipped. "I think you have the wrong table-"

"What?" A husky voice answers back, and she finds herself staring down at easily one of the most attractive people she's ever seen in her life. His head's shaved to a buzzcut, there's slight stubble covering his jaw and cheeks, he's probably about six feet tall. "I didn't realize people were still sat here-"

"Well, we hadn't technically ordered yet but-" she replies, slipping back down into her seat.

" _We_?" the man questions, lips parting in question as he spins around in his seat to face her. He crosses one leg over the other, dropping his hands to his lap.

"Me and…"

"And? You don't even know the guy's name?"

"I know his name," she argues defensively. "It's- It's Michael… or something." Glancing around the restaurant, her eyes scan through dozens of people until she finally finds the one she's looking for. He's stood at the bar a good twenty feet away, his back turned to her. "There," she points, " _that_ guy."

"The one wearing his wife's blouse or the one with a very obvious drinking problem?"

"The... one on the phone."

"That guy?" he asks, nodding in her date's general direction. He's stood at the bar, phone pressed to his ear, free hand nursing a beer. "Yeah, he's not coming back." The stranger tells her, brows softly furrowing as he swallows down a bite of the bread he's picked out of the basket. Then he tears off another piece and shoots her a look; knowing, like he's in on some big secret and she's been kept in the dark. "Trust me, you don't want him to."

Lips curling into a snarl, April leans back in her seat, "How do you know?"

"He's looked over here at least three times but is still on the phone." The half-torn bread roll in his hand plops down into the cloth-covered basket, and the man brushes his hands together before clasping them in his lap, eyes narrowing. She's only just noticing how blue they are. Or green. Or maybe both- "Maybe it's just me, but if I saw my date had been hijacked, I'd hang up the phone and come salvage whatever's left."

"Maybe- maybe it's an important call." Admittedly, she's never been the greatest at reading social cues—much less romantic ones—but she's also not about to just freely admit that she's completely clueless when it comes to dating to a total stranger she met less than five minutes ago in a fancy restaurant… where she's supposed to be on a date.

(There's some odd kind of irony at play here, she thinks.)

"Ten bucks says he comes back in the next two minutes and tells you where to get off."

"Fifty bucks and he doesn't come back at all," he raises a single brow then, corner of his lip working into a smirk, "and you get a drink with me."

( _Oh._ )

"Don't you… have a date... or something?" April pries, feeling her cheeks flare pink. "Or did you just come here to hijack other people's dates?"

"That's one of my hidden talents actually; stealing women away from other dudes," he gests, teeth grazing his bottom lip as his smirk widens. "Congratulations."

April smiles despite herself, casting a look over at the bar. Her date—or, well, _old_ date—is nowhere in sight.

Her face falls, but her shoulders rise as though she's about to stand. "He left," the redhead says, and briefly looks over at the man across from her before shifting her gaze back over to the bar. His beer bottle is sat on the side, two-thirds empty, and there's a couple of crumpled up bills beside it.

"Why wouldn't he come back?" She asks, sounding more dejected than she'd like.

"The guy's probably a douche," he tells her with a shrug, "Trust me, anyone who'd just up and leave a gorgeous woman to eat alone in an expensive restaurant is kind of a guaranteed douchebag."

"Thank you."

(He doesn't ask what for, but she thinks it nonetheless: _'For saying that.'_ )

"I was here with my mom, by the way." Her train of thought is cut off then. April whips her head back around to face the other guy, face heating as she realizes he's: A) staring directly into her eyes, and B) totally right.

"Your mom?" She asks after a beat, voice quiet. She brushes a fallen strand of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear, fingertips pressing to her earlobe as she presses her elbows on the table, attentive.

"I, uh, got promoted and she wanted to have a celebratory dinner." He unfolds his arms and scratches the back of his neck with one hand, lips thin as he takes a breath. "Turned into a lecture pretty fast, so I… uh, got up to clear my head in the bathroom and came back out and then sat at the wrong table."

(He doesn't mention the fact that he only sat down at her table—on the far end of the restaurant and out of his mother's range—as a means of escape.)

"And ruined my date." April blushes.

He squints, "Your date was already ruined."

"Probably true." She sighs, "so your mom is…"

"A giant pain in the ass."

"Probably waiting for you to come back," April finishes, eyes widening suddenly, "Oh. Oh, God, what if she comes over here and thinks _I_ pulled you away? You need to go back!"

He holds up his hands, blinks repeatedly but holds her gaze. "My mom is fine, trust me. She probably just figured I left and got the cheque... like always," he informs her. "Okay?

(There's something oddly adorable about the way she _frets_.)

She nods, but there's a noticeable look of uncertainty on her face still. And he's pretty sure it doesn't have anything to do with his mother. She looks—for lack of a better word—constipated. On edge. Like at any given moment she could spontaneously combust.

"You alright over there?"

"Are we…" April clears her throat, licking her lips after he does. It's definitely because she needs the moisture and not at all because the idea and sight and thought of _his_ lips is making her thirsty-

"On a date?" He concludes, single brow hitching in amusement. He pushes his chair back, wooden legs scraping along the tiled floor. "I mean, unless you want me to go get the other guy back-"

"No!" April waves a hand about, a couple of inches away from the collar of his shirt. She stops her hand mid-air, "No." She makes a fist, lowers it to her napkin, admitting the floral pattern. "You're better company," she mumbles under her breath.

He hears it though. "You want to get that drink?"

"Please." It's accidental, but there's something almost erotic about her tone of voice at that moment—as if she'd been holding in a low, guttural moan for a while now. April stands and swipes her jacket from over the back of her seat. "He was so boring."

The man chuckles, "How boring are we talking? Accountant or vet?"

"He works for a charity." She shakes her head, closing her eyes, "I know I'm supposed to be a good person and always see the good in people—especially good people—but he would not shut up about old people." She growls, "I couldn't get a word in. He didn't even ask me anything about what _I_ do."

"Which would be…"

"I'm a trauma surgeon. I actually start a new job tomorrow." She shoots him a look, "Grey Sloan Memorial." There's a fleeting look of surprise on his face then. "What? Is it a bad hospital or something?"

"I, uh," he starts, and he tilts his chin to meet her gaze more directly, towing over her. "Jackson Avery, head of Plastics and Reconstructive surgery... at your new place of employment."

"Oh." She stills, then, " _oh!_ " All of a sudden, she's sticking a hand out and there's a beaming interview-ready smile on her face, "April Kepner."

"At the risk of this night getting even more awkward, do you still-"

"Yes!" She beams, "I mean, yes, I would like to still…" she nods her head, slow and unsure. But when he doesn't respond, she frowns, "you were talking about getting a drink, right? Because I can _not_ , if that's-."

"No, I- I was," Jackson says, and he moves a hand into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. "You just- You have ketchup in your hair." He eyes her for a second, as if asking for permission, and then plucks a strand of long, silky red hair between two fingers and wipes away the small trace of tomato sauce. He rubs his fingers together, looking back up from his hand to her face, noticing the faint way her cheeks flush.

"Well, this is embarrassing."

"Or cute."

"Or awkward."

"Can't be any more awkward than me stealing someone else's date though, can it?"


End file.
